


Teeth

by castielsass



Series: Hunters [2]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Dark, F/F, M/M, Mavin, Murderteeth, serial killer au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-25
Updated: 2016-01-05
Packaged: 2017-12-27 15:23:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/980505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/castielsass/pseuds/castielsass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>New Alternate Ending in chapter 5</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Joel's thighs ached and burned with every half step, his weight mostly resting on his shaking hands. The bars he gripped were warm with how many times he had done this.  
"Keep going Joel, you're doing wonderfully," his physiotherapist said absent-mindedly, marking something down in a report. "A major improvement," she muttered. Joel only half listened, preoccupied with the friction burn on his thigh of the harness that held his prosthetic leg in place.  
He grunted in acknowledgement and his sweating hand slipped down the bar. He went crashing to the floor and his physiotherapist grasped him under the arms and heaved him back up on his feet, mumbling reassurances all the while. He pushed her off as soon as he could, bitterly grasping the bars again.  
She stepped back, but still tilted her head. Joel recognised her going into 'lecture-mode'.  
"You've suffered major trauma, Joel. You've progressed fantastically, even further than anyone could ever have thought. That bullet tore major arteries, it starved your entire leg of blood. The fact that only below had to be amputated is amazing luck alone. That you're up and walking is incredible. Stop rushing yourself. It's only been five months."

Only five months Joel thought bitterly, and he still checked behind his shower curtain every time he went to take a piss. Five months and still, when he closed his eyes he saw Ray smiling at him and kissing his cheek, his eyes crinkled with laughter. Slender fingers working smooth over a rolled joint, nails clipped to the quick, hands on his face, sweet fingers wrapped around his arm, his hand, his cock, his gun.

 

The tv flickered in the background of Barbara's small apartment. The FBI had chosen to house her and Lindsay in a tiny one room apartment for the duration of the case.

A blonde woman with hair stiff as a helmet, red tones running through it under the fluorescent lights folded her hands on the table and spoke briskly, emotionless as a robot.  
"Since the shock turn of a police officer to the side of the killers Free and Jones, counselling measures have been increased for officers suffering from trauma. Officer Jack Pattillo speaks to us now, live from Texas. Officer Pattillo, what new measures have been implemented and why?"  
Jack flickered on screen, his hat under his arm. "Well, counselling is now available for all police officers and we're working hard to reduce the stigma involved with seeing help. It seems to be working well, people understand a little more about why it's important not to let things fester. Nobody wants another Ray."

Barbara grit her teeth and stood, toes of her shoe brushing Lindsay's blanket as she passed. Lindsay tugged it back up and shut her eyes.  
Before Lindsay might have comforted her, Barbara thought. She would have grasped her waist and pulled her down onto her lap and ran fingers through her hair. She'd have made stupid jokes and funny faces until Barbara laughed. But now, she shut her eyes and turned her unmade up face into her blanket. Barbara let a cup fall and shatter on the cheap linoleum floor just to see if she'd react. Lindsay jumped off the couch and stood, hands raised a little in shock, all distantness vanished. Barbara abruptly felt terrible.  
"I'm sorry, d-"  
"Don't worry about it," Lindsay said, relief evident in her voice. She came to help clean up. Barbara brushed her aside, pointing out her bare feet. The tv continued in the background.  
"Again, police warn to be aware of three males, descriptions to follow. They are presumably armed and very dangerous." The warnings tumbled out from the newsreader's mouth like snow, used to falling.  
A photo of Ray at his induction day appeared on the screen. He was in dress blues, his hat under his arm. He looked impossibly young.  
"-Puerto Rican male, aged between twenty and twenty five, slender-"  
Barbara looked down at the broken clay in her hands. She let them tumble into the waste paper basket.  
Free appeared on screen, his photo side-by-side with Jones.  
"Two Caucasian males, aged between twenty five and twenty nine, both wi-"

Barbara picked a splinter of baked clay from her knuckle. She looked up at Lindsay.  
"I think they met online. All of them, I think," Barbara continue, distantly looking over Lindsay's head into nothing.  
"The camera in the police station that day, it picked up Jones calling Ray 'BrownMan'. I did some digging and it's a gamertag for xBox."  
Lindsay moved over to the desk, waking her desktop from sleep. While she worked, Barbara swept the floor until she called her over.  
"It's a gamertag, alright, I've got it." Lindsay had text loading on her screen, the letters taking up the entire white page.  
"Messages," she explained to Barbara, who pulled a chair over from the breakfast bar. "It hasn't been active in a while, but. He's got a few friends, but there's two gamertags he seems to be messaging the most. MLP Michael and Gavino."  
Barbara sank back against her chair. "That's them, it must be. You can read the messages?"  
Lindsay confirmed it, fingers flying over keys. Barbara took a moment to look at her. She was still pale but a flush had returned to her hollowed cheeks at her work.  
"It seems like Ray and Jones met each other first, on some FPS. The conversation starts casual, and it stays that way for months. They're close, I think, they message almost every day and play together often. Ray doesn't message Free until Jones mentions him to him a few times. The first messages are teasing, they're mocking each other. Jones mentions a guy...he met on xBox live...he says they're friends now. Ray teases him, asks if he has a crush. Jones admits it."  
"They're romantically involved? Jones and Free?" Barbara asks. It makes sense, explains why the kills would escalate so quickly. They really were trying to impress each other. 

"Not just yet," Lindsay says, scrolling the lines of plain html and text quickly. She moves to another tab where she already has the plain text pages of messages between Gavino and MLP Michael already loaded.  
"Jones and Free maintained a weird relationship," she said, lifting one side of her mouth in disgust. "The messages alternate between graphic flirting and even more graphic descriptions of in-game kills. Apparently the whole thing started out as a semi-normal relationship, they met online, chatted, became friends. Then they seems like they became infatuated with each other, and it's a constant fight to impress the other. Their contact increases too, they skype daily, call each other and text... They're in constant contact with each other. They slowly isolate themselves from absolute everyone else, except Ray. And Free mentions his 'American parents' frequently, but their lives literally revolve around each other."  
"But there was always an undercurrent of violence in their contact?" Barbara asks and Lindsay nods before she can finish.  
"Even their flirting is...well, creepy to normal people. Look here, this message literally says "I live for you."  
"Apparently that changed to 'I'd kill for you'," Barbara said.


	2. Roses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barb and Lindsay find Gavin's parents.

Searching for the 'American Parents' that Gavin referenced was easier than Barbara expected. That said, Lindsay had taken care of most of that, using her team of experts back at Quantico to piece together clues found in the text of the UNSUB's online accounts. Caleb had gifted her with an address and names, a couple living in Texas who had apparently signed off on a passport for a young British teen Gavin Free. They were just there, Barbara swung open the squeaky gate and led Lindsay up the twisting stone pavement to a small, disarmingly sweet looking bungalow. Red and yellow flowers sprouted along the garden, surrounding wooden carvings and sculptures. Barb knocked hard on the door watching Lindsay wander over to the wooden sculpture closest to the door. It looked like a gargoyle with barbs on what passed for its eyelids. A wooden rose bloomed through its chest. Barbara wrinkled up her nose, and unfortunately that was the moment Geoff opened the door. 

"I gotta say, I don't really understand why you're here," said Griffon, a tall blonde woman with piercings and tattoos. Her husband Geoff sat beside her, looking tired. Barbara sipped her tiny cup of tea, placing it back on the handpainted saucer.  
"It's somewhat difficult to explain, but can you clarify your relationship with Gavin?"  
Geoff shrugged. "We were friends with his parents since before he was born, they couldn't handle him anymore, we offered to take him. He lived with us since he was...fifteen? Sixteen?"  
Griffon nodded, refilling the rose patterned tea cup by Lindsay's hand.  
"We love that kid, we always have. He's had some troubles, for sure, but who hasn't?"  
Barbara swallowed, a bitter taste on the back of her tongue. "By troubles, do you mean killing people?"  
Griffon sighed and Geoff shook his head.  
"You don't understand, it's just...It's not that simple. We've always taught Gavin to love himself, to treat others they way they deserve. He's a loyal friend, he's kind and talented and a sweet kid, but people only ever focus on the worst part of him."  
Lindsay pulled back from the table, her back against the chair. "Wow."  
Griffon put her hand on top of Geoff's shoulders. "Listen, Gavin makes mistakes. But he only ever hurts people who've hurt him, or others!"  
Barbara swallowed the rest of her cup of tea, her mouth dry. "He killed cops."  
"You think the police have never hurt anyone? How ignorant are you?" Griffon demanded.  
The dull thud of Lindsay sliding of her chair and hitting the ground surprised Barbara out of her distraction. Waves of sound like water echoed in Barbara's head slowly. Barbara turned her head to look at her partner curled up on the floor with her eyes shut. Her fingers brushed the table.The tea cup fell to the ground at the same time as Barbara did and shattered beside her head. 

When she woke in darkness, Barbara was not surprised, but she was furious with herself. She had let her guard down, beguiled by a sweet bungalow home and kind parents. She had allowed the scent of flowers and a home and the firm squeeze of intruding into the crux of a family distract her and Lindsay had suffered the consequences.  
It took a few moments for her eyes to adjust to the darkness, but she explored with her hands, until she felt a sharp tug on her ankle. She felt down her jean clad leg to the cool shock of metal where a steel cuff wrapped around her ankle. She felt back along the links of steel chain that led to a peg jammed into the concrete. Biting back an expletive, she tested her radius until the metal squealed. The noise made something in the corner stir, and Barbara sunk back into a defensive position, reaching automatically for her gun, fingers grazing empty air in the holster.  
"Well fuck," came Lindsay's voice from the corner and Barbara darted forward.  
"Are you also Jesus-style on a weird platform? Or is that just me?" Lindsay's voice wavered.  
"No, but hey, don't worry. I'll get us out of here, ok. Can you move at all?"  
"Not really. My wrists are tied and my feet are too. I can move my hips and head but that's it. So...you think they got us?" Lindsay asked conversationally.  
"Unless this is a massive coincidence, I'm gonna say Geoff and Griffon aren't as innocent as we thought they were."


	3. Grief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end.  
> tw: for mentions of sexual abuse, tw: for gore, violence and death

“Maybe it’s just a coincidence,” Lindsay said for the fourth time. The tail of her sentence was drowned out by the creak of a trapdoor in the ceiling. Barbara scuttled backwards on her hands and knees, almost blocking Lindsay out with her body. She scrunched her eyes up as blinding light filtered through, illuminating specks of dust floating through the air.The harsh screech of metal made her wince as a ladder was lowered onto the ground. Barbara took the opportunity to inhale deeply and scream as loud as she possibly could while the door was open. Boots stamped down the ladder, revealing tight jeans and a loose white vest and a man darted towards her and jammed a gag in her mouth and tied it with a scarf. Barbara’s eyes were still adjusting but she recognised Gavin Free from the numerous photos and grainy video she’d watched. As she blinked at him, he moved aside and another person descended the ladder, in red canvas shoes and blue jeans. Ray Narvaez Jr dropped onto the concrete with a thump and a grunt that sounded more like a frat boy than a killer.The ladder was pulled up by someone above, and it clunked in the floor above, then with the trap door still open, Michael Jones dangled his feet through the open door and watched them.  
“Ray, you son of a bitch!” Lindsay yelled.  
“Rude,” Ray said.  
“Don’t talk to him like that!” Michael shouted from the open trapdoor. “Gavvy, catch.”  
Gavin moved underneath the door and held his hands up for a small black box that Michael dropped down. He missed the catch and it knocked into the floor with a metallic clunk and sprung open.  
Ray picked it up, but not before Barbara’s eyes caught the glimmer of blades slotted neatly into ordered gaps. Lindsay began to struggle on her cross, loosening her foot enough to swing her leg forward. Before she could move much further, Gavin grabbed her ankle and secured it back to the platform, scowling.  
“You’re so fucking rude, Jesus,” Gavin grumbled.  
“Fuck you! You’re rude! And your parents are freaks!” Lindsay screamed, jerking her wrists forward.  
The whites of Ray’s eyes flashed as he rolled them and he turned to a table piled high with white bedsheets. He laid the box on a bare part and grabbed a bedsheet. He shook it out carefully and Gavin grabbed the end helpfully. Together they lay the sheets, covering the cool concrete of the basement floor, disturbing more dust that floated up toward the light filtered into the basement from the trapdoor. Gavin wrapped his arms around Barbara’s waist and pulled her up so Ray could lay the sheet carefully underneath her. He dropped her, and the gag made her choke as she was tossed casually aside. Fury burned in the back of her throat and stomach as he moved her as carelessly as if she were a doll. Gavin spread the last bedsheet on the table and Ray began laying blades on the white surface carefully.  
“Alright,” Ray said. “Any preferences? Michael, you coming down or staying up?”  
Michael’s feet swam through the air and he considered it. “I was gonna stay up here and safeguard the door, but…”  
Gavin grabbed Michael’s swinging foot and tugged on the end of his jeans. “I don’t think they’re going anywhere, come on down.”  
“Treat yourself,” Ray quoted from the table where he was organising his blades in order of size.  
“Mmmmm, ok yeah,” Michael conceded, kicking the toe of his sneaker against Gavin’s chest. He pulled his legs up and let the ladder drop on the concrete, he slid down it. “I guess I’ll take the mouthy redhead second. Who wants the blonde bitch?”  
Gavin wrinkled up his nose. “Not really my type. I’ll be your assistants!”  
“Mine!” Ray said happily. He picked up a scalpel with a viciously curved blade. “Ooh.”  
Barbara’s hands start to sweat, and she slid back until the chains clinked against her ankle. She gripped the peg jammed deep in the concrete floor and tried to twist it, sweat making her grip weak. Ray turned his back to the table of blades and grinned at her, kneeling by her feet.  
“Hi Barbie, how’ve you been?” He asked conversationally as he beckoned to Gavin. Gavin knelt behind her, gripping her wrists and holding her down against the cool concrete.  
Barbara kicked out hard as her back hit the floor, her ankle twisting painfully against the shackle but Ray knelt on her shins carelessly. He dipped his fingers into the bottom hem of her white shirt and slid the blade through the material like butter, revealing her belly as he tossed the fabric aside. Ray’s hand landed warm and dry on her abdomen and Barbara inhaled deep through her nose, Lindsay’s screams echoing in her ears. The blade slid across her waist, making shallow cuts along her side, blood beading in the scratches and dropping onto the white sheet. Barbara sank her teeth into the ball of fabric in her mouth, biting back a cry. Ray’s face was curiously blank, and Barbara fixed her eyes to his, wrath burning through her. The blade lay curved against the swell of her ribcage and he put no pressure on it, merely drawing red raised lines over her skin. Then he began.

Blood raced down her sides as he carved deep patterns into her flesh, and she could feel it pool under the small of her back, the sheet not enough to absorb all of it. Gavin had removed her gag at some point so Michael could hear her scream as he sat cross legged on the floor, watching them. Lindsay has passed out not long ago, her head slumping onto her chest. Barbara knew that would happen, with her weight focused on her limbs and her arms raised, she’d find it difficult to breathe and would eventually pass out. The scientific side of her brain remembered that, and she let herself drown in facts she knew as Ray swapped blades for a smaller, square scalpel and began drawing straight lines down her ribcage. Blood slid down the curve of her breast and dripped in her open mouth as Ray yanked her waist up to feel the pooled blood underneath her. 

Cobra venom is forty times more fatal than cyanide, she thought.

Barbara’s breath faltered. It felt like Ray’s hand dipped into her open flesh and squeezed, slow and firm until the pressure made her rib crack.

A body decomposes about four times faster in water than it does on land.

Gavin’s hands slipped in blood around her wrists from where she had tried to tear herself loose from his grasp but he had held so tight he broke the skin. 

When a person dies, the first sense they lose is usually sight. The last is hearing.

Everything seemed dimmer, like the walls were absorbing the light in the cellar. Barbara lifted her head, pure adrenaline the only thing fueling her now. She was comforted by the fact that although he felt as though he was digging in her insides, he had only peeled enough flesh back from her ribcage in order to jam his thumb in and crack them. Even though it felt like his hands were buried on her stomach, he had only carved elaborate patterns into her flesh and not cut her wide open. 


	4. Original Ending

The male praying mantis cannot copulate while its head is attached to its body. The female initiates sex by ripping the male's head off. 

Gavin’s hand slipped from her wrist again and she rolled wildly, reaching for the table. The sheet flitted through her fingers and her heart almost stopped as Ray yanked her back down, but she made a fist and it spilled onto the floor. Blades dropped and bounced, clangs muted by the sheets. Barbara threw her head backwards, connecting hard with Gavin’s face, hearing a crack as his nose broke. Michael darted forward and she screamed, curling up onto her stomach. Michael kicked the toe of his shoe underneath her side, jarring her cracked rib and he forced her onto her back. She kept her fists clenched, her prize of a small blade stashed in her right hand. It was slippery with her blood and a fierce vindication ran through her bones as she hurled herself forward, ripping away from Michael and Gavin’s hands and stuck the blade into Ray’s throat. 

In general, women will live five years longer than men. 

She yanked the knife from his neck and Ray fell backwards, his breath harsh and gurgling as his hand clamped around the wound. Michael’s hand grabbed her arm, but she was burning up with fury and pain and love for Lindsay who hadn’t woken up in what felt like hours. Barbara buried the scalpel deep into him. She aimed for his throat but Gavin threw himself at her and she missed, sliding the blade into the gritty muscle of his chest instead.  
“Geoff!” Gavin screamed and footsteps banged overhead, then the ladder was lowered, banging hard against the floor.  
“Geoff, help!”

“I’ll help,” said Joel, climbing off the ladder. He drew his sidearm.  
“Fuck you! Geoff! Griffon!” Gavin shrieked, going back on his hands and feet and scuttling to the wall.  
Jack and Caleb followed him down the ladder, landing with solid thumps and drawing their weapons. Joel moved forward to check on Ray automatically. Ray’s eyes rolled in his sockets, and he gurgled. When Joel’s face swam into his field of vision he inhaled sharply, then spat blood into his face.  
“You gonna arrest me Joel?” Ray asked, his voice ragged and low. “Just kill me. Sweetheart. I can’t go to prison.”  
Joel wiped sticky blood from his face.  
Jack and Caleb moved in a v shape into the room, Caleb holstered his weapon and untied Lindsay, letting her drop into his arms and laying her on the floor. He drew his gun again, fixing on Michael. He lay on the sheet on his side, blood dripped steadily from his chest. As they watched, it slowed with every declining beat of his heart. Joel looked around, calling an assessment of the room to the agents upstairs while he put pressure on Barbara’s wounds as medics made their way into the small basement to remove her. Jack had pressed Gavin onto his stomach on the floor and handcuffed him. He screamed, loud and piercing, for Ray, Michael, Geoff, Griffon, in that order like a chant. Joel stepped away from Barbara as the medics eased her onto a stretcher. Another medic carefully lifted Lindsay onto another, and Ryan helped them strap her down. 

Joel knelt carefully, his artificial leg scraping irritatingly against the skin of his thigh. He checked Jones’ pulse, and called to the agents at the door; “This one’s dead.”  
Like a spell, Free crumpled at the words. He stopped screaming and Jack pulled him to his feet, and made him climb the ladder, his back to Jack’s chest as his hands were cuffed at the small of his back. Another agent-looked like Kdin from the angle Joel was at-grabbed Free by his collar and pulled him up.  
“What about the other one?” Kdin called. Joel turned and pressed his fingers to the side of Ray’s neck. A pulse beat, loose and feathered but there. Joel's hand wavered before slipping to Ray's cheek, soft even with the scrub of stubble against his hand. When he started to withdraw his hand, Ray shot forward, a red knife glinting in the light as he aimed it at Joel’s face. Joel toppled backwards, drew his sidearm and shot once, clear and ringing loud through the basement as the bullet opened a hole in Ray’s chest. He struck the floor and didn’t move. Joel eased himself back onto his feet. His gun slipped from his hand and Joel lifted it, looking at his hand dully. The imprint of red confused him for a moment until he realised his hand was painted in Ray's blood. He made a fist slowly, the blood soft and warm against his skin. 

“Approximately one in five women worldwide reports being sexually abused before the age of fifteen,” Barbara murmured. The medic-Burnie-nodded, and laid an oxygen mask over her mouth.  
“It’s ok,” he said, hushed her. She ripped the mask off and grit her teeth. They shone white against the splatter of blood and Burnie almost recoiled. Gus, the other medic holding her trolley stopped and the wheels shrieked against the floor.  
“Ok, I guess we don’t really need that. Try not to talk, though, ok?” Gus said, and pushed the trolley forward, letting it roll over the saddle of a door as he pushed her through the kitchen and out the front door. A mess of cars scattered around the street and yard, two ambulances that she could see and too many police cars to count. Barbara turned her head, and blinked, blood smeared in her eyelashes but she could see the Ramseys in the back of a police car, handcuffed. Gavin was in the back of another, but he lay his head listlessly against the window. She could see a medic she didn’t know loading Lindsay’s trolley into the back of an ambulance. Joel came towards her trolley and Gus stopped to let him speak. He squeezed her wrist in solidarity.  
“We won, right?” She croaked. Joel looked down at the ground where her blood was spilling through bandages and dripping on the shoe of his prosthetic leg. Lindsay’s ambulance took off, lights screaming red and blue over the bruised hollows of Barbara’s face.  
“We won,” he said, empty and bitter, Ray's blood still cupped in his fist. “We won.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DreamingFandoms wanted an Alternate Ending. So this part isn't "canon" so much, which will matter as the story moves forward.

Barbara’s head started to ache, her neck muscles tense as she held her head aloft to watch. For a moment she felt nothing new, even as she watched Ray’s fingertips sink inside her open flesh, blood oozing around dark skin. His nails, knuckles, fingers disappeared into the gaping slit across her ribcage, her blood spurting on his skin, covering his wrists and forearms. His face was still terrifyingly blank, a faint hint of curiosity furrowed his brow. Gavin’s harsh breath was rough and wet on her forehead and the sound of her head crashing into the floor forced a small soft groan from her mouth. Her wrists sweated and bled at the same time as Gavin’s hands gripped hard, but as she whipped her head in pain she saw Lindsay start to stir on her makeshift cross. Cold air filled her lungs, trepidation running down her spine as Ray’s fingertips curled around and under a thick rib, his nail catching disgustingly on the exposed bone. Bile rolled up her throat and she turned her head and coughed it out, just as Lindsay gasped herself awake.  
“God, no!” Lindsay barked in a rough voice, breathless and shuddering in pain. Soft noises echoed through the trapdoor, as Lindsay yanked herself forward, her bonds cracking under the strain.  
“Let her go,” Lindsay begged, “Please, God, just let her go, ok? We’ll leave you alone, I swear, I’ll tell them all you’re all dead. Just don’t kill her.” Her voice cracked and Lindsay’s wrist made a sickening noises, popping against her restraints. Lowly, she whispered, her eyes narrowing in on Ray.  
“Please.”  
Soft noises from behind him distracted Ray, and he pulled his hands out of Barbara’s stomach with a sick sucking sound. Gavin’s hands only tightened on her wrists, and Michael’s shadow fell over her face as he moved toward Lindsay.  
“What the fuck is that?” Ray said distractedly, pulling back on his haunches. The shadow of figure moved over the trapdoor and Ray was on his feet before he even realised. A harsh scream from Lindsay whipped his head around, and he caught the glimmer of the handle as Michael buried a blade deep in Lindsay’s shoulder. He gasped in clean air, Barbara’s bloodied figure, somehow still shaking and drawing in rattling breaths, at his feet. He was perfectly alive and free. Ray’s heart beat in his chest, a virulent joy curving the corners of his mouth. The soft press of a muzzle into the hollow spot in the base of his skull made his smirk wide, teeth shining in the dim light.  
Ray closed his eyes, a soft peace enfolding him, even as Gavin backed away in a panic,crab-like and Michael struggled to remove his knife from Lindsay’s shoulder. He opened his eyes, a faint bliss surging in his heart and making his blood-crusted hands fold into their fallen sleeves.  
The gun clicked softly, the shudder of two feet one real one false scuffed the bedsheet edge on the floor.  
“Safety’s off?” Ray whispered, his throat dry and his words round from his smile.  
“Of course,” Joel returned and Ray’s knees pressed together to stop from shaking at the whole sound of his voice. Ray, too afraid to turn, not from fear of a bullet but rather the painful anticipation of intense joy, let his hand slip up the coarse fabric of Joel’s clothes until his hand - curling soft and warm and flaking blood - slipped around Joel’s wrist. The weight of the gun and its potential forced the tendons of Joel’s wrist out against his skin, bright and strong, and Ray swallowed hard. The shift of Michael as he pulled Gavin neatly behind him, his small nervous body swallowed up behind Lindsay’s cross. Her soft whimpers echoed in the basement as Barbara bled at his feet.  
“I feel so whole,” whispered Ray, barely loud enough for even Joel to hear, his warmth sweet and hard against his back.  
“You’re a monster,” Joel returned, but with his face pressed against Ray’s blood-splattered neck his voice came soft and low, like pillow talk.  
“You can fix me,” Ray murmured, wrapping his long dark fingers around Joel’s wrist, his voice settling low in Joel’s heart, weighing him down. Joel’s fingers, callous-rough slipped into the back of Ray’s hair, neat square fingernails rolling softly over his scalp.  
“Maybe,” Joel said, in a voice low as a prayer, quiet enough to hide from the truth. Ray’s smell, a low heady inhale of sweat and blood and faint jasmine swept down his lungs and settled in Joel.

Michael’s hands shook Gavin back out of his fear, Gavin pressed himself against Michael’s chest, gasping in a quickly inhale. Lindsay’s foot twitched in the corner of his eye and Gavin let out a soft bird-like noise and he pulled Michael to his feet.  
“Fuck it,” Michael said harshly, his accent hardening his words. He yanked himself away from Gavin and pulled a pair of scissors, shockingly bright and shiny in the dim light from his jean pocket. He checked Ray and the cop, apparently lost in each other across the basement, the agent bleeding to death at their feet like a macabre wedding portrait. Lindsay flinched so hard she cracked her head against her cross as Michael advanced on her with the scissors. Her eyes shut as Michael cut through the ropes snaking tight around her wrists, feet and waist. The knife shuddered with each rough inhale she made, but Michael did not remove it. Lindsay fell from the cross, her breaths coming harsh and ragged and painful sounding as she collapsed into Michael’s arms and he held her up in front of him, like a shield.  
“Here,” Michael started, shaking Lindsay like a gesture at Joel. “Take it, take them both, leave us alone.”  
Joel’s eyes were soft and strangely hopeless, so Michael stalled his movements in surprise. Gavin didn’t pick it up and he pushed Barbara’s unconscious body harder toward Joel with his hands, his knees dropping hard on the concrete floor.  
“Take them!” Gavin begged. “Truce?”  
“Truce...” Joel repeated softly, his breath low and regular. “I can’t do that.”  
“Please!” Gavin hissed, tears shiny in his eyes. “We’ll leave, we won’t come here again. Don’t kill Ray.”  
Michael’s hands slipped on Lindsay and he didn’t adjust, letting her fall with a soft thump and her groan to the floor. Gavin gasped at Michael, standing unprotected in front of the cop, but Michael’s head tilted in understanding.  
“He wants to come with us,” Michael said, a current of mockery and understanding melding in his gravelly voice. “He loves Ray. He’s not gonna kill him.”  
“You don’t know a fucking thing,” Joel said, but he couldn’t force confidence into it, and even as he said it Ray’s fingers rolled over his wrist, lowering the gun to his spine, ass, thighs, to point harmlessly at the floor.  
“Call the cops,” Michael said, and Gavin’s eyes darted to his in horror. "Save them." But Ray whispered, his glasses slipping down his nose slightly.  
“Come home with me,” and the last of Joel’s resolve slipped to the floor with his phone. 

In the dust kicked up by the men's exit, Lindsay's harsh breathes echoed rough in the cellar as she dragged Barbara's stubbornly breathing body to the trapdoor. Her fingers tight around the phone, she croaked out for help in a voice hoarse from screaming and half-dying.


End file.
